


Happy Not Anniversary

by startrekkingaroundasgard



Series: Pride Prompts 2020 [13]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anniversary, Deaf Clint Barton, Domestic Avengers, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Morning Cuddles, Other, Polyamory, Pride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24909982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrekkingaroundasgard/pseuds/startrekkingaroundasgard
Summary: Sweet soft fluff where Clint wakes Bucky and the reader up with breakfast on their anniversary. However they all think their anniversary is on different days and have different recollections of when they officially got together.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Reader, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Series: Pride Prompts 2020 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1768873
Comments: 1
Kudos: 36





	Happy Not Anniversary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BarnesnMrNoble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarnesnMrNoble/gifts).



Crimson streaked across the morning sky, beautiful, intense, and the old saying about a shepherd’s warning vaguely crossed your sleepy mind. It drifted away into obscurity, disappeared into the void, as you rolled into the warm body beside you. You settled your head against his chest, the slow, steady beat of his heart gently pounding away beneath the solid mass of muscles. 

Bucky drew his fingers down the length of your arm, the rough calluses beyond light in their touch. His hand drifted lower, almost by its own volition, and settled on your hip, pulling you closer and holding you in place. It wasn’t possessive so much as needy, as was always the way. He had to know that you were there, truly and physically, and not just a figment of his imagination. Your presence grounded him, set his mind on the path best prepared for the day ahead. Plus, he simply liked touching you. 

“Where’s birdbrain?” The deep words, thick and gravelly after a long night’s sleep, rumbled in his chest and sent a shiver down your spine. 

You rolled your head to check the bed and found the space beside you empty. Forehead crumpling, you pushed yourself upright, legs draped over Bucky’s to maintain a physical connection even as you pulled away, and searched the room for any sign of Clint. There was none. 

Always the first to jump to the worst case scenario, Bucky stiffened beside you but your hand found his beneath the covers, gave a gentle squeeze and drained some of that tension away. You rubbed your thumb over his scarred knuckles and said steadily, “It’s okay. See? His bow’s still against the wall and he didn’t take your gun.”

That wasn’t enough to convince Bucky. You had to admit that it didn’t do your worries much good, either. Clint, for all his skills, didn’t always step back to think things through when danger reared its ugly head. He tended to run straight into the fray, often without a weapon, and hope that a plan would come to him before the alien / robot / evil dictator managed to down him. 

Especially where you and Bucky were concerned, Clint’s common sense was often nowhere to be seen. 

Just as a precaution, you stretched beneath the mattress and pulled your handgun. Throwing your legs off the bed, you froze at the sound of approaching footsteps. Safety off, muscles tight and prepared to shoot, the door creaked open and in walked Clint. Dressed in his usual night attire - boxers which had definitely seen better days and, in a rare treat, an actual t-shirt - Clint’s eyes widened in panic. 

He threw his hands in the air but you could see in his eyes that he was already working out the distance to his quiver and bow and steeling himself for the possibility of having to shoot you. That wasn’t what left you terrified, though - your job was weird; brainwashing and body switching happened more often than was truly comfortable and you had set procedures in place to cope with them. Anyway, you’d been shot before. Another hole in the leg wouldn’t be a problem.

No, what had you carelessly tossing the gun aside, no concern for your own safety, was the fact that Clint’s hands were strained blood red. 

You ran over to him, Bucky in quick pursuit, and cupped his face with your hands, running your fingertips over every inch of skin you could to check for a wound. No obvious abrasions on the face, neck or back of the head (although there were many scars and bumps that had never truly healed, despite Clint’s claims) so you moved lower in your search. On your knees, you lifted up his shirt but found no new cuts, gashes or burns and your search yielded the same result for his lower body too. 

“Nice as this is, and trust me when I say I’m not complaining about this thorough seeing to,” Clint said, running his fingers through your hair and leaning into Bucky who had undertaken a similar search from behind. “What the hell are you two doing?”

“You’re bleeding.” As you Clint pulled you to your feet, you caught his wrists and turned over his palms to take in the nonexistent wounds. Not his blood then. Someone else’s. An intruder? No, he wouldn’t be smiling if that were the case. So what?

A sweetness filled the air around you, one of your favourite smells, and realisation hit. “You’re making pancakes.”

He nodded. “Red ones. Shaped like hearts. Are you impressed? I’m impressed. I haven’t burnt a single one.”

Bucky’s arm tightened around Clint’s waist and he pressed a long kiss to that spot behind Clint’s hearing aid that never failed to make him squirm. You grinned at your boyfriends, happily accepting the kiss that the brunet offered you across Clint’s shoulder. Naturally, your archer wanted a piece of the action too and you were suddenly caught in a tangle of limbs and sharing soft kisses with the two men that you loved most in the world. 

The sharp beeping of the kitchen timer, matched with a little flickering light on the wall and then followed by the distinct smell of burning batter, tore you from your moment of bliss. The three of you sprinted from the bedroom, just in time to save the pancakes, and made yourself comfortable on the sofa. Comfortable, in this case, meant you sat on Bucky’s lap as Clint dished up breakfast before jumping over the back of the seat and stretching his legs across you both. 

Much to your surprise, the pancakes were so absolutely delicious that you had to wonder whether Sam had been involved in any step of their production (there was no one on the team better at baking than him and he was always incredibly quick to remind you all of it). 

Savouring the sweetness on your tongue, you leaned back against Bucky’s chest and complimented Clint’s efforts. He absolutely preened at the praise, barely able to hold back the smile that threatened to tear through his cool facade. You knew better, though, and saw how happy he was. The gleam in his eyes as he watched Bucky steal half of the pancake from your plate was brighter than any supernova and filled with more love than you had ever felt before.

“What’s the occasion?” Bucky asked, mouth full. 

The light in Clint’s eyes dimmed slightly. “It’s our anniversary.”

You slapped Bucky on the back as he choked on the pancake, spluttering that it was absolutely not your anniversary. And, as hurt and confused as Clint looked right now, like a puppy you’d teased with its favourite toy and then made it watch you destroy the treat, you had to agree with him. 

Reaching over, you took Clint’s hand and said, “Our anniversary is in March, Clint.”

“No, no, no. It’s today. June twenty first. The very first time that we all went out together on a date. Bucky took us both out for pizza, we went to the cinema to watch that film that turned out to be a murder mystery porno and then we came back and had amazing sex. I remember that very vividly.”

A heat climbed up the back of your neck as you recalled that particular evening. Judging by how Bucky shifted beneath you, it was fair to say that he had fond memories of the night in question too. Clint was right; it truly had been incredible and inventive sex. What it hadn’t been, though, was your anniversary. 

Climbing off of Bucky’s lap, you crossed the room and pulled a picture from the mantle place. It showed the three of you messing around in the ocean, somewhere in the Mediterranean. Your mission had ended early but you’d stayed over there as the rest of the team returned to The Compound. A week without worries, just the three of you enjoying a well earned holiday with great food, beautiful sun and scenery and a particularly memorable walk on the beach that had almost ended with a public indecency charge. 

“March seventeenth. That’s our anniversary.”

“No way,” Clint insisted. He took the photograph from your hand and his face softened but his resolve held. “I’m not denying that it was great fun - and who would I be to reject a criminal record from a twelfth country - but we weren’t together at that point. I knew you and I had a regular thing going on and me and Bucky cuddled sometimes but…”

“You’re both wrong,” Bucky interjected. “March third. That awful mission in Latveria and we all came back and slept together. Properly slept, I mean. Then in the morning, you made Clint and I coffee and we went for a walk in the park to get out of our heads. That’s our anniversary.”

You remembered that night, too. It had been the day you’d realised that the attraction between you was mutual but you’d never considered your anniversary. The start of something new, perhaps - after that day, the three of you frequently shared a bed, breakfast and the occasional kiss - but it wasn’t until the Med trip that it had been official. Or according to Clint, three months later when you all had sex together. 

Settling back on the sofa between your men, you took their hands and pressed a kiss to each of their cheeks. “Under no circumstances are we going to tell Sam about this. He will never let us live it down.”

Your boyfriends were quick to agree. Bucky then went on to ask, “Which date are we going to pick, then?”

Silence hovered as you considered your options when Clint randomly suggested August sixth. 

When prompted for a reason, he said, “That was when I knew I loved you both. It was just some training exercise but you handed me the exact arrow I wanted before I asked and then that same evening we were in the common room and it was just getting too much. I took out my hearing aids to block it out and Buck, you asked me if I was ok in ASL. No one else had learned it for me. I hid it for months because I couldn’t believe that either of you would ever love me back but that was when I knew.”

Instinctively pulling your archer into a hug, you felt Bucky wrap his arms around the both of you too. You sat there for a while, locked in the tight, slightly awkward embrace until your body became stiff and you had to sit up straight. “That’s perfect, Clint.”

“You’re perfect. Both of you.” he muttered. “I don’t know about you, but I think this should be celebrated with another round of expressive and flexible sexual gymnastics.”

“You think everything should be celebrated with that,” Bucky pointed out, his fingers already teasing at the edge of your shirt. “You thought that the pizza arriving early deserved sex.”

Clint pressed a line of kisses along your jaw, his arm stretching across you to palm Bucky through his jeans. The brunet groaned softly against your skin, his stubble scratching deliciously against your cheek as you attended to Clint. As clothes vanished and skin pressed against skin, fingers and hands and _other things_ taking you higher and higher until you were floating among the stars with the men you loved, you couldn’t think of any better way to spend your not anniversary.


End file.
